


Broken Vow

by AngelsofGlory666



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alpha John Watson, Altered Sherlock Holmes, Guilty John Watson, M/M, Misunderstandings, Omega Sherlock Holmes, True Mates, Virgin Sherlock Holmes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-22
Updated: 2018-01-22
Packaged: 2019-03-08 02:42:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13448829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngelsofGlory666/pseuds/AngelsofGlory666
Summary: Sherlock Holmes made a vow. Unrequited love and cruel rejections proved to be too much to endure and so he broke his most solemn vow. He ran from his heart and deleted the one who owned it completely from his mind. His most cherished John Watson.It had been his saving grace and by far the most foolish thing he could have done, because he’d been terribly wrong. He’d been loved in return.





	Broken Vow

**Author's Note:**

> Story re-posted.

John Watson was Sherlock's alpha. His true mate. The one he'd been made for, but John didn't want to see it. Sherlock was a omega and John certainly thought himself alpha-sexual. He only dated other alphas.

People said an alpha and omega could feel the connection immediately after meeting. A physical pull would draw them into the gravity of the other. Sherlock felt it and it had been so very difficult to leave that lab without John, but he did it, hopeful that John would meet him at 221B. When he had, Sherlock thought that was it, it would be the time in which John would make his move.

Alphas were to be the ones that affirmed the bond. The alpha was _supposed_ to acknowledge the omega as theirs. All John had to do was present him with a demonstration that he could provide for him. Most tended to provide their omega's with a kill. The alpha would go hunting and when they returned they'd bring with them a prized animal that the omega would always accept. It was their true mate’s gift to them and omegas treasured them for it. John's wolf didn't care for him enough to provide such a demonstration. 

When John went on dates with female alphas and brought them home, Sherlock understood. John wasn't waiting for the perfect moment to present his offering. John didn't want him and as much as it hurt, Sherlock had accepted it. He'd _grown_ to accept it. 

Then the fall happened, and after, Mary Morstan. 

Sherlock promised to keep John and Mary safe, and he had, for a time. All those who'd wished to harm them, he'd done away with. Mary had her baby girl with no complications. John was full of joy. In fact, he was the happiest Sherlock had seen him since he'd faked his death.

Sherlock knew that those last few months after his return from the dead had been the hardest on John and he couldn't blame him. Sherlock kept messing up. Even when all he'd ever wanted to do was keep John happy, he couldn't. Sometimes Sherlock wondered if placing John's happiness first had ruined him. In a way it had, but not in the way it mattered.

Sherlock suffered. The years he spent without John fighting Moriarty's network, distroying it, had left him scarred. He'd been just short of ruined when he returned to find John with someone to love. 

For a brief time Sherlock had thought it could have been him in Mary's place. True, John wasn't attracted to omegas... but the looks, the closeness that they had, made Sherlock think all it would take was just a small action, the perfect set of words, and the restraint of his solider would crumble and... 

That didn't happen though, and Sherlock couldn't think about those types of things now. Too much had happened.

No. John was happy again. Truly happy. He had a family he loved more than his own life, so Sherlock couldn't think about the past. 

Into battle he went and the loss had been great.

There was nothing left for him here. Nothing, but heartache.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

"I'm sorry..." Mycroft exhaled on a breath of disbelief, "What did you just say?"

Sherlock eyed his brother across the coffee table within the government official’s townhome. The gentleman stood near the window overlooking the city, his glass of scotch lowering, unable to compute Sherlock's words.

"I want to leave London." Sherlock repeated himself, for once lacking any form of bite. He didn’t have the strength to insult his brother's inability to listen the first time he said it, because it was obvious he had, yet he could not fathom the notion.

"Why? You love London. Your work is here. It's your life." The edge of worry in Mycroft's voice told Sherlock his brother thought him to be mad.

Maybe he was mad. Heartache was a terrible sickness. He'd fallen, given to sentiment and it had destroyed the very man he'd been. 

"I'm... defective." Sherlock confessed, unable to hide the pain, not now, not to Mycroft.

He was no longer the strong, stubborn, independent Sherlock Holmes of before. No. Today he was the weak, helpless, needing young Sherlock Holmes, seeking his brother's help.

Mycroft set his glass down on the nearby bookshelf, his features softening, understanding flooding, before anger took root, and he uttered one name with derision, "John."

Sherlock bowed his head and buried his face in his hands, shutting his eyes, he inhaled a shuddering breath of sorrow.

"I... I can't do it anymore. He's broken me. Mycroft. I need... I need to get away. I can't take it. He's always there. Whatever I do, go, look- _He's always there_." Sherlock's hands slid up as his head lowered further, and nails dug into his scalp as he fisted his hair.

"In my mind palace he reigns supreme. I can't enter a room without him there. I see him when I sleep. I see him when I wake. I see him when I work. I can't. Mycroft... I can't do it anymore."

Sherlock's eyes clenched shut, his breathing escalating, nearing the point of hyperventilating, when he hears the quick footsteps of Mycroft, and cold hands laying themselves onto his own. 

Sherlock allowed Mycroft to ease his grip on his own hair and wordlessly let his hands drop to raise his head and meet the searching eyes of his brother.

"What is it that you require of me?"

Sherlock hates how his sight blurs, but he hates the man he's become even more. He needs to take drastic actions to correct himself, but those same actions will cut the line that binds him to the one he loves more than anything.

"I... need to leave London for good, but you have to promise me you will always watch over John. Take care of him as I would have." 

Mycroft's brows knitted together, gathering his words and formulating a answer to his brother's intent. A moment later, Mycroft's eyes gave light to understanding.

"You mean to delete him from your memories." Mycroft acknowledged. "Are you sure you want to do that?"

Sherlock swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded his affirmation. 

"It's not that I want to do it, but that I _need_ to do it. I can't keep living like this. I know myself as you know me and you know that eventually I will lapse, this time no amount of rehab will fix what's broken and I'll be dead within the year."

Mycroft sighed heavily and moved to seat himself next to Sherlock. They both stared at the wall across from them in silence. 

"I promise to protect John and his family." Mycroft finally agreed.

"I've decided to move to Ireland. Not too far away, close enough that at least mother and father can come visit."

Mycroft nods.

"What would you have me tell John?" Mycroft knew that Sherlock would be unable to say his goodbye this time.

"Nothing. Just... give him this." Sherlock reluctantly retrieved the envelope hidden in the breast pocket of his jacket and slipped it into Mycroft's hand.

"Are you truly certain this is the right thing to do?"

"Yes. For me, it is."

"John is a fool. He can not see things as clearly as we can. If you told him how you felt, pushed the matter more, maybe he'd-" Mycroft pursed his lips, and frowned at Sherlock "You should have pursued him before he married."

Sherlock smiled weakly and raised his eyes to meet Mycroft's gaze. "It wouldn't have changed anything. He felt it, yet he chose an alpha in the end. Always alphas... Mary shot me, nearly killing me, and he went back to her because of the baby. John will always choose the mother of his child."

Mycroft exhaled a heavy breath of frustration. John had done some wrong, but than again so had Sherlock. Still, Mycroft could hear the hurt in his brother's voice and knew that right now, doing what Sherlock wanted was for the best. It ensured his brother would live. 

"When do you want to leave?"

Sherlock arched a incredulous brow.

"Today then? Right... Give me an hour at least to set up things." Mycroft said rising from his seat and retrieving his cell phone to make some calls. 

Sherlock clasped his hands together over his knees and stared at them as he listened to his brother proceed to make arrangements. This was the right decision for him. He needed to start over. He'd be giving up so much though. 

John. He'd be givin up his feelings for John and that was absolutely devastating, but living this way... Seeing the man he loved, who he thought he could have everything with... have that everything with someone else was far worse. 

His career... being a consulting detective, that was a hard one to bare loosing, but... if he deleted it all. Deleted not just John, but the last ten years of his life, maybe than he could find another way to be happy. 

Sherlock contemplated what story he'd have to tell himself when he woke with ten years of memories wiped from his mind. Mycroft would need to travel to Ireland with him. They would need to set up a hospital room and dress him in a gown from where he'd wake to find Mycroft. His brother would than need to feed him some information about how he'd suffered a car accident or whatever, and that it had wiped his memories. 

From there, Mycroft would have to supply a reason why he was in Ireland in the first place. A specialist who had taken care of him? Yes, that could work.

Of course Mycroft would than have to monitor him. Place him in a home where he could start another life.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Where is he!" John shouted within the government official's office, his clenched fists shaking so badly and yet, he was unable to stop it. His whole body seemed to quiver with emotions he struggled to hold in but couldn't, not now. The letter in his left hand crumpled with the force of his clenching. "Where is he, tell me- God damnit!"

Mycroft sat at his desk, his mouth parted in voiceless wonder, brows furrowed in confusion, unable to understand the alpha's reaction. Upset, he'd expected, but not this. 

John's eyes were narrowed in anger, yet they glistened with barely restrained tears. His bottom lip trembled ever so softly, even as his jaw clenched, flexing. The bitter scent of the alpha made Mycroft's nose wrinkle with displeasure. John reeked of grief.

"He entrusted me to keep him safe as well as you. I read his letter, John. He told you to not look for him."

John laughed bitterly, "I don't give a fuck what he said, he knows nothing- That daft genius. Where is he?"

Something flickered in John's eyes, fear and need. This need wasn't that of friendship and the love brought on through friendship, but it couldn't be. John couldn't possibly... All those alphas... Mary... but John looked like he...

"You're in love with him?" Mycroft whispered in disbelief. 

John's face crumpled in misery, snapping his eyes shut, he rasped with devastation, "I didn't know... I didn't know he was my mate, but I still... I loved him."

"How could you not? You would have felt it upon your first meeting."

"I can't. I... After I was shot something was damaged, I couldn't feel it and I... I thought he wasn't interested, so I took what I could get. I didn't know. Damnit Mycroft, just tell me where he is. I need to see him. I need to talk to him."

"What about Mary?"

"It's not..." John shook his head. "It's not like that... Not for a long time. We're married yes, but we haven't been together in months. We've been separated for three months and are getting a divorce. We only stayed together so long because of the baby."

"I read your files John. There was no description of this condition of yours."

"I didn't report it, because I didn't know if I really couldn't feel it if it happened. They said it was a possibility, but it would be slight." 

"Oh God." Mycroft palmed his mouth, eyes wide with horror. He'd been blind, he hadn't researched deep enough, he hadn't watched John close enough, so preoccupied with Sherlock's well-being he couldn't see _all_ of the possibilities.

"Where did you hide him? Where is he? Please, Mycroft, just tell me, I'll handle everything else." John was pleading, desperate, but he didn't know. It hadn't been in the letter.

"I'm sorry, John." Mycroft spoke remorsefully. "I'm so very sorry."

John took a step back, fear piercing his heart with that look of pity Mycroft was giving him.

"Why?"

"I... didn't realize. Sherlock didn't realize it either. He... was desperate to move on and he couldn't do that thinking of you." Mycroft began and John felt dread take root, understanding beginning to flare.

"No... _No_." John shook his head not wanting to believe it.

"He deleted the memories of you, John." 

A wretched sob broke from John, fists raising up to press tightly against his head as he struggled to come up with a way to fix this, but there was no way to fix what was erased. 

"Damn it! I... I didn't know. I didn't fucking know!" 

"John..." Mycroft spoke kindly, pitying the alpha and his brother all at once. "I will help you. We can fix this."

"He forgot me, Mycroft. He forgot _everything_ we went through. It's... It's all gone."

"You can start over again. I will bring him back. I promise you, John, we will fix this. I played a part in this. If I had researched more, I could have stopped this."

"I need him. I need to fix this. I want to apologize for the pain I caused him, but he doesn't even remember how I hurt him."

What they both couldn’t realize then was that memories once lost could alter a person’s perspective to such a extent that their very character could cease to exist and another could take its place. Therefore, ones responses and actions could differ drastically from the person they’d once been. Ten years of memories being deleted might then bring about variables no one could calculate nor control.


End file.
